


Always the Drums

by orphan_account



Category: Assassin's Creed, Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen, timey-wimey nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-18
Updated: 2013-02-18
Packaged: 2017-11-29 16:43:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/689170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clay isn't quite who he thinks he is. It has something to do with why he's always yearned for the stars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always the Drums

"Can't you hear it, Desmond?"

Clay's drumming his fingers on his thigh, 1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4, over and over again, and Desmond is scared, more than he's ever been before. Clay looks manic, looks utterly insane, and it's beyond the bleeding effect, it's something else entirely.

"The drums, Desmond, the drums!"

Some part of Desmond's brain, the dumb part that wonders about the plural of animus when pursued by Templars, idly notices that there's a chain running from Clay's jeans to something clutched tight in the blond's hand. He wonders briefly what it is before Clay stands, and is right in Desmond's face. There's a crazed grin on his face.

"Can you hear them? Calling you to war? To fight?"

Clay lifts his hand, and Desmond flinches despite himself. Clay reaches forward and places his hand gently, so gently, on Desmond's forehead. He can suddenly hear a deep, harsh drumming. It's strange- Desmond has never desired the feel of Templar blood on his hands before, but he feels a need for it now, with the steady beat pulsing in his mind.

"Do you understand how long I've waited? They're so stupid, you're all _so_ stupid... No-one understands, Desmond. But now..."

The hand on Desmond's forehead drops. Clay is still holding something in the other one. The hand opens. There's a pocket watch there, shiny, but still carrying a sense of oldness, the way the Apple had. Circles and lines are inscribed in seemingly random patterns on it's silver surface. 

"My name. My real name, Desmond. Not Clay Kaczmarek. No, no, my dear boy. Do you want to know it? Do you want to see?"

Long fingers trace the surface of the watch reverentially. Desmond stares at Clay's hands, not wanting to look into those crazed blue eyes again. He feels powerless, trapped, more so than at Abstergo. At least there he had had Lucy, there to remind him to keep fighting, to stay strong.

"I don't even know it myself anymore, Desmond. Let's see, shall we?"

He opens the watch, and for a moment Desmond thinks that it is a Piece of Eden. The world around it glows gold, a sphere of pure golden light that makes Desmond hide his eyes behind his arm. From underneath it, he can see the light shift, change, and slip into Clay's open mouth, vanishing completely.

The grin remains as Clay closes his mouth and the glow fades. There's a different quality to it now, something old, something eternal. Still mad, though.

"Ah, yes. How could I have ever forgotten?"

There's something mocking and patronizing to Clay's voice.

"You may call me the Master."

He lifts his hand again, smile fading to something fond, almost wistful. The hand drags down Desmond's cheek, and Desmond knows that he is caught, that Clay- the Master, he reminds himself- could so easily kill him, but is choosing to be gentle instead. He is a very lucky man, and he knows it.

"I never did get why he liked having a human with him so much. I guess I owe him an apology. It's nice to have someone to impress. You get points for not being too squeamish about people dying, too."

Desmond can't move. He can't speak. He doesn't know what he would do or say. He feels like a very small animal being sized up by a very large predator, and maybe, maybe if he holds very, very still and is very, very quiet and is very, very lucky, he won't get killed.

"C'mon, Des, saaay something. We'll have fun, you and I. I do sound like him, don't I? But I mean it, Des, he just takes every girl who can pretend to be smart but you- well, brains aren't your strong suit but I do still like you."

The Master is close to Desmond, too close, blue eyes wide and terrifying and beautiful, breath tickling across Desmond's skin.

"Let me show you the stars, Desmond."

He leans farther forward, lips almost meeting Desmond's.

"Don't make me be alone anymore. Even he pities me and that- being pitied by him, you understand, you have your father..."

Desmond can't talk, doesn't know how to respond to this insanity. He leans forward barely an inch and kisses Cl- the Master. It's brief, and remarkably chaste, but it stops the Master's increasingly desperate words.

"Okay."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry. This brain crack struck, oddly enough, after marathoning Star Trek: Next Generation. Not sure why.
> 
> (PS. In case you missed it, the 'he' that the Master refers to is the Doctor.)


End file.
